


MODERN ART

by Kitsubasa



Category: Borderlands
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mild Gore, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsubasa/pseuds/Kitsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ladies like artists, right? Krieg tries his hand at sculpture, and enlists Zed's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	MODERN ART

“THEY SAY SUTURING THE SLAUGHTERED SUMMONS YOUR SMILE.”

He slaps a roll of butcher’s paper on the table, translucent under the halogen and showing black marker through the page.

Zed raises an eyebrow and slips the scroll into his hand. Leaning back in his chair, he pulls it open. He nods.

“Sanctuary _does_ need decoratin'... outside Scooter's place, maybe? Big ol' empty spot. 'Less you wanna test it somewhere quiet first. Y’only unveil an installation once.”

“SHAME IS FOR LESSER PROFESSORS! ART IS MEANT TO BE SEEN.”

In this instance, I wish it wasn’t.

xxx

You don’t have to embarrass us like this.

He raps the side of our head with our knuckles.

You could give her something normal, like a bottle of expensive whiskey, or a book I like.

He groans.

I think I enjoyed _Les Miserables_ , if those lyrics you pull are any indication.

We take another blow to the skull.

Or maybe I only ever saw the vid? What does it matter, probably the same. Sounds more impressive to like the doorstop.

“Got two bits o’ medical advice, if you’ll listen,” Zed steps around our creation, four red tubes looped through his fingers with a pulsing red-and-blue weight at their end. “First, head trauma mostly makes things worse. Second, by every known law o’ nature, the heart should be somewhere less exposed.”

Big guy leans back on our heel, one hand raised appreciatively to our chin, stroking the end of our mask-filter. He keeps our face serene, taking in the statue from base to raised arm. Maybe we should replace the cover on our right eye with a monocle. Thoughts?

“THE HEART HOLDS THE PASSION, SHE HOLDS THE HEART.”

“It’s like leaving – oh, gimme a good analogy – like leaving the engine exposed in a truck. Someone gets a clean shot, it’ll blow.”

“PUMPING THE LEAD WILL POP THE PUMP?”

“Not yet – though if you want it to have audience impact…?”

“AWARDS COME WITH CONTROVERSY!”

Zed places the heart in the statue’s upheld hand, if we can call it a hand.

Let’s take an inventory. She’s standing on a crate we stole from Claptrap, both her legs buckled inside the bright yellow trappings of a Hyperion engineer. Her pelvis through collarbone are the skeletal remains of a Dahl scientist, held intact with something Zed swears is medical tape (Zed once swore the Hippocratic Oath, as well). Flopped on her right side is an arm recently amputated from a disgruntled neighbour; she had three, it was supposedly spare, but she was unhappy to see our clinical collaborator. The left arm is bolted in place, two-thirds bandit but bullymong from wrist to fingertip.

Mercifully the head is from a mannequin.

The big guy has added a liberal sloshing of blue paint to one side of the figure, dressed it in sunshine-y scraps, and put more effort than Zed into making it resemble its subject. Acrylic paint lips even brushed onto its polystyrene mug. But there’s only so much that can be done with a stack of corpse parts.

"Pity there ain't more womenfolk out there."

"HARDLY A PITY WITH NONE SO PRETTY AS THE PRETTY LADY.”

"I hear ya, but do you really think she'll be flattered? We coulda done better on other planets, reckon. Been to any?"

"I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE AN ERROR IN OUR ASSEMBLY: THE PAW IS LARGE.”

"No solving that unless you butcher nicer. Fingers are delicate 'til they're this big. Egh. Run by Moxxi and we can fix this up a bit."

"STRIPES?"

"I've seen her private area. Out back of the bar. She owes me and she's got at least one wig. Invite her for the unveiling, while you're at it."

xxx

She sets down a shot glass and slips her hand to Rubi's holster.

He places our buzzsaw on a stool as a sign of relative peace.

"Considering you decked the last one, I'm not sure that means anything," Moxxi takes a respectable approach to him, cautious but not to an insulting degree. All I can hope, every visit, is that he respects her the same.

"THE MAN IN THE OTHER MASK SENT ME FROM OUR CELL. WIG?”

"Always wigs with us, isn't it? Sick of being bald, sugar?"

"MAKING ART.”

"I’d hoped your beauty was more than ab-deep."

Her hand rises, holding nothing but a set of keys. Her lip curls to one side, in a gesture of uneasy trust. More than we deserve. Less than I'd like. Her focus flips to a bespectacled barside figure.

"Hammerlock, a girl can trust a man like you to play house, can't she?"

"If the lady spots me a shot on her return. Afternoon, Krieg."

We grunt in reply.

Moxxi leads us through the back, on past a bathroom and a stack of Zaford-brand kegs, to a smooth, metal door with a bulky lock. She jimmies a key in and shakes it until it clicks, then pushes the door clean away.

"You give an inch, and all that. At the old joints, I went with oak and a good stiff handle. After four AM with my reputation, a lot of people wanted to break it. One succeeded."

"DID YOU AXE THEM TO LEAVE?"

“I asked. Scooter axed later that day,” she walks onto the first carpet I've seen in weeks.

Her living room is deep red – drowning in it like the Badlands in Eridium post-Jack. While the carpet _is_ absent in one corner (allowing room for a mismatched and dismantled Loader on a workbench) the effect is overwhelming. Across from our entry point is a dress-form with a wig and a hat balanced on the neck-stump. The hat matches the other décor to a tee. The wig is an ugly purple bob-cut. I suspect they’ve been combined for convenience, because the aesthetic of the pair is… questionable. I say that, and I’m half-blind.

Moxxi steps in the way of our remaining vision.

"You know sweetheart, sometimes when a guy doesn't quit, a doll has to get harsh."

"THE BLUE TATTOO IS NEVER CRUEL.”

"She might not be, but she’ll have a Scooter. I guarantee it.”

"ALL I HAVE IS TRYING.”

"I won't stop you. This time sounds cute. Be careful," she lifts the hat from the dressform and slides the wig from under it. She passes the wig into our hands, and places the hat on our head. "A tip from Pandora's prettiest pin-up. Normally artists dress nice for their exhibitions. Even better when they're a slouch day-to-day. Tickle ‘em pink, beefcake."

He toys around with the hat, balancing it to one side, the other. He raises it and tips it like the worst gentleman this side of Edward Hyde.

"I’M A RED VELVET CAKE NOW.”

Moxxi laughs. "There's more icing on you than they give credit for."

This is our chance. Better to ride the goodwill train to invitation station than walk there on foot. Come on, big guy.

"VISIT THE HORRORSHOW?” I'd pin a medal on you, if you'd get us a shirt. Or maybe I'd pin it anyway.

"I already assumed I'd be coming, but a formal offer is the cherry on top," she turns to exit, the curled mouth unfurling to an actual smile. "Shall I contact the others? They were worried about you and Zed rubbing your elbows raw together."

In an ideal world, I'd open my mouth and say 'no'. The one word, clear and concise. Even though I wouldn't need to, because in this ideal world, I'm a single person in a single block of meat, just like everyone else, and I don't threaten others or make macrame out of unwound skin. They trust me and they don't immediately assume that all my friendships are predicated on bloody murder.

I don't even have my own mouth here.

"ALL MAY WITNESS!”

I can only hope 'all' rounds out at Hammerlock, Scooter, Ellie, Tina, Gaige, and Brick. The remaining collection are trouble and will evolve into huge trouble when they see 'Mayastein'.

But big guy, you and I both know we're getting the full suite now. Up to and including the ones that reply to lethal behavior with lethal behavior.

You'd better be ready for this dance, because I feel like two left feet.

xxx

"FUN BREWS IN OUR BRAINS.”

" _I don’ exactly… trust your idea of fun._ ”

“BETTER THAN BIRDBRAIN’S.”

“ _You an’ Zed been makin’ some weird house calls, man._ ”

"ONLY THE DOCTOR DINGS THE BELL.”

“ _Least he means well mostly. Never know what_ you _mean. We’ll let it ahead for now but Lil ain’t gonna enjoy hearin’ the reports I been hearin’. Somethin’ ‘bout third arms._ ”

“ONLY THE DOCTOR.”

“ _I’ll keep that in mind,_ ” echo click, echo beep, echo off.

Big guy slides down the wall into a heap of junk, hat bouncing to an angle. He slips our hand through until he hits a rusty can. ‘Genuine tomato puree’. I don’t trust food with a ‘genuine’ on it. Moxxi’s pizza is probably nothing but meat and dough, all the smart ingredients you’d find on other planets missing. Like us, right?

He crushes the can, the rim cutting the joints in our fingers. Some red runs out.

"MORE THAN MEAT.”

Hence why I said meat _and_ dough. You're a multifaceted man. Bicycles _and_ trains.

"YOUR JOKES LAND LIKE A CLEAVER. I CAN LAND BACK.”

If you know so much, then why don't you know to quit it with the violence? They're afraid of you. They're right to be. You scream at me when I say ‘careful who you kill’, you light yourself up on some idea it'll make you stronger -- do you know anyone who could understand that? Tolerate that?

"IF THEY CAN’T SEE THE SWITCH, HOW CAN THEY SEE THE ROOM?”

Why should they have to? Jack is gone. We're free. We've fixed everything that went wrong. There's nothing to stay this angry over.

"BREAK THE KNIFE INTO THE WOUND, THE WOUND WON’T HEAL! TRY TO SHOW THE BANDAGE SHE TIED, HOW TO CLEAN IT – THEY MISS THE SHOWCASE!”

Because you tell them with meat. People can't understand meat.

"YOU CAN.”

I know why it ends up that way. Couldn't you have used clay, or junk, or imported some goddamn moonstone?

"THE MEDIUM IS THE MESSAGE.”

Sometimes you have to rephrase for people to follow. She'll hate it.

"I HATE YOU.”

xxx

" _So you admit it's weird._ "

"I admit you won't like it when you see it. But he and I are having a bucketload of fun and someone's gotta let him have that, once in a while."

" _Drive him out to the Bloodshots if you're trying to entertain him. I've had it with psychopaths redecorating Sanctuary._ "

"I don't think he'd take the Jack comparison kindly."

" _I don't think I care. No Moonshots, no mortars, no meat statues. We owe everyone a rest._ "

"You're right. Getting shot at by bandits can't be a rest for him either. You know what happens when you keep a lid on a boiling pot?"

" _Quit it, Zed. Talk to him and keep the doors locked when you do. If he doesn't understand there's only one guy I want dead over it_ ," the echo cuts out.

We shut the door behind us.

Big guy turns the latch.

"I wasn't going to listen to her."

"PRIVACY.”

"Might wanna keep your voice down, if that's the case. Claptrap's always about," he stands and crosses the room, pulling down his surgical mask. Get that cue, big guy? He'll be talking slow and serious. Patience is a virtue. We can always do with more virtue.

We remove our hat and unclip our gasmask to match.

Zed raises an eyebrow.

"We’ll shout less with less to shout through.”

"'Bout as bad under there as I'd suspected. Though I thought the badness'd be measured in fleshy bits missing, not metal bits mashed in," he takes methodical, medical steps toward us, only to stall out a foot early. "Naw, I shouldn't, should I? Krieg, we've got to talk. I'm still happy to finish our work, but some folks found out about it that I didn't want finding out. I just want to know, before I egg you on, whether you're comfortable with a bit of shock and awe from our pals at Raider HQ."

"They have to understand.”

"So it was you. Guess that's as much of a yes as I could get. Moxxi have a wig to spare?" much less invasive than I'd anticipated. Suppose we all did our 'serious discussion' gestures early. Feel like a guy wearing a life jacket in a desert, how about you?

"Wig on deck. Feeling stupid,” he puts a hand into our storage deck and pulls out the black bob. His right hand forms a duck-bill shape inside, like he's trying to make a long-haired shadow puppet out of it. "The little man says, ‘less of a talk than I thought’.”

He flaps our hand open and shut with the words. Do I really need a wig? I'm bald as you are, just do it bare.

"’Do I need a wig?’ Remove, please.”

"I'll take it off him, yeah," Zed grabs it and throws it onto a gurney nearby. Luckily there's no blood for it to land in. Their work is visceral enough already. "Did he have any more to say about this?"

"’Only invite Ham and the Tiny One and Bricolage and the caring collection,’” with everything this hand has been used for -- especially before you came along -- I'd really rather be something else. Can't you pretend to be me for a bit? You like acting, you act for Tina's tea parties. "No prizes for acting from the inside!”

"This has never been about having fun, has it?" he shakes his head, looking away from us, then to me -- my hand -- my goddamned hand. "Are you always there?"

"Only worth bleeding out if something’s in the blood,” big guy pulls the saw from our belt with his left hand, and mimes, only mimes, hitting his right with it. "He leaves with the last but I’m gone too. There’s no solution.”

I only go when he becomes what they wanted us to be, a misshapen giant, a monster even he can see with one blind eye and the other in a meat-made world.

"When it happens we’re one in one.”

We hold our hand and our face level, eyes and fingertips pointed directly at Zed.

He does. Not me. If I don't stay distinct I'll never get out.

"What's the point of the statue, then? Are you feuding?"

"Always at war, so they named us War. ‘I want you to surrender’. If I do, I’m a prisoner twice, they’ll never hear the dark behind the bars,” he puts away the saw and lowers his hands. He puts our mask back on. "ART TELLS THINGS BETTER THAN WORDS.”

"What if it tells the wrong things? I guess you're confident this won't," Zed leaves his down. "You've got differing opinions though. I find it hard enough to reconcile with myself, and there's only one Zed to reconcile with…"

"TOO MUCH ME AND NEVER ENOUGH FLESH TO HOLD IT. HE ISN’T HAPPY WITH A HAND, HE ISN’T HAPPY WITH ME HERE, HE ISN’T HAPPY WITH ME POURING INTO A STATUE OR A SAW-WOUND. WITHOUT CONFLICT, WHERE IS ART? MAKE THEM THINK, MAKE HIM THINK.”

xxx

Mordecai turns away from Talon for the first time this afternoon.

"I don't think my jackets'd fit more'n half a you," he gestures across the room. "Ey 'Bricolage', you ever start wearing real formalwear?"

"Nope. Never replaced my t-shirt either, so Slab's hat is twice as formal as anything I own," Brick nods in approval. "'S a good hat. Can't people appreciate a stack of muscles in a hat anymore?"

"Nah, I think it looks kinda goofy. If he got rid of the mask, might work."

"I think," Brick moves closer, folding his arms and raising his nose, posture all fashion-week, "what he needs is to swing by the quick-change for a palette swap. The orange is the problem. Maybe try black. Black's classy."

"Black an' red? Tha'sso cliche, an' she reads enough books to spot one a them a mile off."

"Spotting things a mile off is a cliche too."

"You read now, muscleman?"

"Tina's teaching me how to run a B-and-B game. Telling me bad storytelling form.”

"But not tellin' you 'bout overused colours. Damn, pink-and-blondey," he returns to Talon, the clack of a beak on fingernails ending that topic. "Only one of us with fancy clothes was Roland, on account of those dates he an' Lil meant to go on. Never made it out the door.”

"She tore it all apart," Brick retreats to his corner, finding a gun to polish. "So... you're on your own for your Siren."

"MY SOUL CAN BLEED MORE CLASS THAN A THOUSAND NECKTIES!”

"Yeah man, class is in the performance, not the pinstripes. Whatever the money might blast at us," he looks up from the weapon to offer a smile.

"'Nother Tina-ism?" backs to each other on opposite sides of the room, I'm getting the impression this meeting is over.

"Bit of Tina, bit of Gaige," are you getting the impression?

We walk toward the stairs.

Before we can manoeuvre through the door, a smaller folded-arm figure appears in it. Probably not to give us fashion advice.

"Saves me the trouble of punching your number. Thanks," she walks forward, driving us back into the room.

We stumble into the center table, we stop.

"Hm. Good to know fear's part of your limited vocabulary. Krieg."

Our hands go limp, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Whatever's brought her up, it's serious, and it's probably going to come down to you messing around with Zed. I hope you realise that.

"FEAR FLUTTERS IN EVERY ANIMAL. DID YOU SEE THE HEART FLUTTER?”

"I saw plenty. Thank the good doctor for showing," her irises flare. "Then I burnt it."

This is peachy.

I feel -- like when a steak hits a hot grill, and the red cooks out of it. All that softness, all that tender flesh, shot hot by the metal.

_That is not a metaphor I would make._

He's letting the slag boil too high, rise up from whatever pit of us it normally settles in and flow as free aggression.

The muscles in our right arm bulge.

Lilith notices. She headbutts us.

We flop flat on the table, breaking its hologram. Our hat topples to the ground.

Brick and Mordecai whip from their work to watch.

"Do you have any idea how much she has to put up with from you? Following her around, trying to curl up near her -- having to defend you when Axton and Zer0 complain about having you along?" she stomps around the table so she can loom over our face. "And then you go and make a weird effigy to her? Considering where she came from, you think that's a gesture she'd get excited about? It's not even a matter of it being meaty -- though that is _weird_ \-- it's idolising a girl who wants to be human. Guys like you, can't you stop, can't you give people space to feel normal?"

In a moment of unmitigated genius he tries to punch her chin.

She rocks left, eyes lighting up.

Now our insides are really on fire. He makes that understated gurgling noise. We roll from the table and onto the floor, spinning through the dust to rest at Brick's feet.

He removes his jacket and drops it on us, patting the flames with his helpfully huge hands until the gurgling stops.

We lift the jacket from our head and peer out at Lilith.

"Both of you. Knock it off," Mordecai stands, Talon perched on his shoulder, and steps toward Lilith. He looks at her from a half-foot higher, goggles shining. "Let him alone, you've done enough today."

Then he turns to us.

"Don't try to hit our friend. I'm tryin'ta like you, man, but it's hard to respect a person when they don't even act like one."

Brick grips our shoulders and raises us to our feet.

"Sorry 'bout 'em Slab, but they're probably right. You want to see me alone anytime, ECHO. I got you," he shoves us in the direction of the door.

We accept his guidance.

xxx

Zed rushes toward the door, waving his hands in our face.

"Before you look, you need to know --"

We raise and drop our forearm, batting him out the way.

"I KNOW.”

Viscera dribbles from the far wall, chunks of bullymong and broken man scattered to the rafters. A bit of heart drips onto our head. He takes the comb from our pocket and uses it to sweep our scalp clean. The only discernable remnant of our attempt is the arm of Zed's former patient, lying two-thirds intact below a gurney.

Big guy picks it up and holds it at eye-level. Maybe he's preparing a monologue.

"WE CAN STILL RETURN THIS,” hey, wry is my thing.

"While I'd love to give that a go, now's not the time," Zed slips a bloody finger along the paneling, leaving a red snail trail behind. "Ellie's coming, crissake. We've got no show and a truckload'a guests."

He paces to a pile of black wig in one corner and attempts to pick it up, only for all the strands to slip out the cap and improbably disintegrate. Dusting his fingertips off, he stands again.

"Moxxi's gonna be real nasty over this. An' you're... prob’ly not in a good state either. Lil explain her reasons?"

I expect a tirade -- big guy's still in pose for a good speech -- but he sits quietly and sets the arm beside him. He traces the burn marks on our chest, then settles our hands on our knees. He looks at the ground. The ground is really interesting. Not interesting enough to get his mind off things, I’d guess.

"... She yelled at me, but that's better'n gettin' grilled."

"THE FIREHAWK BURNS TRUE,” he sighs through our filter, like a gas canister releasing. "I AM MEAT, MEAT LACKS POETRY, NO MATTER THE SLICE. A NEEDLE TO QUENCH THE FLAMES?”

Zed passes a syringe.

"You are good at meat though, aren't you? And I --" he swings open the curtains to the side-room, exposing his medical coolers, stacked high, "-- almost forgot we had offcuts."

xxx

He takes a rib in our hand and throws it into the air beside Sanctuary.

The rib pirouettes, arcing further, lower --

Talon shrieks and catches it.

The crowd applaud, none louder than Mordecai, slapping his hands together and wooping before raising his right aloft. I never knew his face could smile so wide. Retrieving his arm, complete with bird, he turns to his spectators.

"We're doin' good. Good as his ma," he scratches under Talon's beak and receives a friendly bite in response. His grin broadens. Even someone who knew him better would probably agree -- it's for the record books. "All the training I push him through, he deserves an evening like this."

"Not the night out I'd anticipated," Moxxi pinches a slider between thumb and forefinger, eyeing her Tina-supplied paper plate, "but that's probably for the best."

"Slab!" Brick tries to snap our spinal cord with a slap to the back. "Gimme the biggest cut."

We flip a hunk of skag, check both sides, and slip it on a new piece of bunny-print dinnerware.

He picks it up, the cardboard bending precariously under the weight. "Zed's being real generous with these portions."

"ONE MAN’S RIBEYE IS ANOTHER MAN’S REAPER.”

"I ain't worrying. Lifestyles like ours, gonna clog the arteries with bullets before whatever else, yeah?"

"MMF,” we flip the other five steaks currently cooking. Running low on plates and sliders... "THIS HOSPITAL NEEDS MORE PATIENTS.”

"Least you know tonight's a hit! Gotta be waiting on half the guests, huh? Oh, and Tannis isn't coming."

"I NOW KNOW MERCY.”

"Gave Moxxi a real careless invite list if she buzzed people you don't like. Speaking of, Lil should be by soon, wanted to finish some secret Siren chat first," no doubt giving Maya the blow-by-blow to keep her away from us. The kind of intervention Moxxi was warning about. You suck at warnings, don't you? You're like someone rubbernecking a beach during a tsunami.

"WILL SHE FIRE THE CHEF?”

"Nah, this is better, she should chill off," Brick disappears up the steps toward the clinic. "You'll survive! We're both good at that."

Minutes later, Zed descends the steps, waddling under the weight of another cooler. Easing toward me, he drops it a few paces early. He kicks it the remainder of the way.

"Scooter's barbeque working right?" opening the lid, he lifts a tray of bullymong ribs, and a tray of minced rakk. Placing them on the sides of the grill, he removes a pack of squashed white-bread buns. "No-one found any irradiated food yet?"

"NONE HAVE WON THE PRIZE,” big guy divvies up the mince and slaps it into eight new patties on the grill. "DO WE PURVEY RAT FOOD?”

"Worst I threw in was a thresher tentacle but hey, those are a delicacy on Aegrus. No-one else takes it, you sell it to Hammerlock on that basis,"

"HERA FED BETTER,” the ribs go on the other side, dripping all the way. "WHERE’S THE BEEF.”

"So you have been to other worlds.”

Yes, but only one or two I can still name.

Big guy twists to look at Zed.

"THE BLOOD OF THE PLANET WEIGHTS OUR VEINS, BUT SPACE CALLS THE REST.”

You’re heavier than the slag.

"Which company?"

I couldn't say.

"THE LITTLE MAN IS THE FIRST COMPANY,” how much do you know? "MORE SINCE, AND THE MORE MAKE MOORING WORTHWHILE.”

xxx

Hammerlock finds us. Ellie, Axton, Marcus, Torgue, Gaige, Claptrap. A 'friend' of Moxxi's from the moon, who Moxxi avoids as best she can. Names on the tip of my tongue from all over, Overlook and what have you.

Torgue brings a box of fireworks as party favours, and by the point we're letting them off, we've only got two missing guests.

Both are Sirens.

Then we're handing out the last bits of food, turning off the grill, one patty inside. Giving the gas canister back to Brick, the utensils back to Tina. Some late-addition lights to moon-girl to return to Moxxi.

Zed washes the coolers out off the side of the city. Pink water cascades through the clouds and into the Highlands. I can only hope it hits a Hyperion or two as it lands. Should be enough blood left in it to make things nasty for them. He eases to the ground and swings his legs over the edge, closing the cooler beside him.

"Yeah. We made 'em happy this time," he gestures over his shoulder at us. "Sit down. Don't be disappointed. We did good."

"TWO NO SHOWS IS TWO NO GOODS,” we join him on the pavement.

"Twenty-plus shows, Krieg. For two controversial guys, that's a helluva turnout. Even had 'em calling in more. I never thought we'd see Karima," his eyes are momentarily proud. "Speak with her? Said they're visiting each other nowadays. Hardly mulling 'round outside, leaving town once in several blue moons, but most of 'em are getting on past their PTMD."

He laughs to himself.

"Post-traumatic Moonshot disorder. Can't get it credited to me since my alma mater cut contact but y'know. Write a bit, slap it on the ECHOnet, least the dictionaries'll know."

"TAKE PIGTAILS AND SQUEEZE THE RESPECT FROM FIFTH EDEN.”

"Hell, that's a great idea. I'll ECHO her tomorrow."

Two sets of footsteps wind down the stairs and around to our broken courtyard. One stalls by Scooter's, the other walks on, stopping a few meters behind us -- just close enough to speak without raising her voice.

"Sorry I missed it."

We're on our feet.

"ONE DINNER LEFT IN THE OVEN,” he dashes to the grill and pops the hood open. "FOR YOU.”

"Um. Okay," she shrugs and sidles up to barbeque.

We slot the patty between two cold buns and hand it over, plateless.

She accepts.

"THE WAIT MADE IT SAD.”

"Lilith and I were expecting, uh -- I would have hurried if I knew it was only food," Maya furrows her brow and looks toward Lilith.

Lilith throws her hands up in exasperation. Shifting from the wall, she strides away in the direction of Moxxi's.

"She's not one to lie, though. Krieg, did you have something else planned?" she sniffs the top of the bun, lifts it, and takes a second sniff of the patty. A dull purple crack runs through the middle of the meat. "Is this safe? ... Not like Eridium is bad for me, I guess." She takes a bite, removing half the burger in one go.

"NO MAN CAN TRULY PLAN A PARTY.”

"I'll take that as a yes. Can we sit down?"

He guides her to the edge.

Zed stands on our approach, nodding apologetically and stumbling over his feet to leave. "Grill's empty, yeah? Better take it back -- need to talk to Scooter too so clinic'll be free a while, if you want it."

We help her sit, offering our hand as safety while she navigates to the ground, her other hand occupied by her burger -- down to a third.

We sling our legs over and remove our mask, second time in twenty-four hours. A record since we escaped. I'm glad he's giving way on it -- if we ever want people to see us as human, see us at all, we have to have a face. Even if it's only for two of our nearest and dearest.

"My tongue was tied Colombian,” he says. "I couldn’t tell, I tried to show, I chose the wrong way. He despised that way.”

"Your 'little man'?" she takes the last bite. "Mmf, got a paper towel?"

We offer our bandaged arm.

"Close enough," she rubs her fingers off on it. Skag juice, nothing new. "He was probably right, if Lilith's description was accurate. She got really into it. A lot of yelling. Imagery right out of Hugo. Long-winded like him, too. She painted a good picture. Best speech I've heard since arriving."

"She builds better than I do.”

"I'm not a good judge of creepy effigies, so I wouldn't know. Words are more my speed. So maybe that's an idea for you," she taps our bicep with her fist. You couldn't call it a punch. "Even if you can't speak, maybe you can write. I've had enough weird statues made of me in a lifetime, not a lot of poems."

"A letter made of letters?”

"To my inbox by next weekend," her smile is smaller than Mordecai's, but it means just as much. More. "I'd love to know what you really think."


End file.
